How Do You Spell Impossible? R Y L I E
by K. Ashley


"Right." Ron looked incredulous and folded his arms across his chest impatiently. "So basically what you're telling me is that this girl is Malfoy with horns and flames shooting out of his ears."

"Basically."

"Harry, she might be a bit snobbish, but I have trouble believing that anyone, _especially_ a girl, could be worse than Malfoy. Maybe she's just, you know, having female difficulties."

Harry flopped down on the edge of his bed and shook his head defiantly. "No, Ron, you don't understand," he said. "I've spent all morning with this girl and I'm about ready to rip my own head off. I'm going to ask McGonagall if she'll find someone else to get Rylie Montague acquainted with the school."

"She is hot, though," Ron said quite seriously. Harry nodded and rolled his green eyes at the same time.

"Yeah, she's hot all right," he said. "Hot tempered, that is. I don't know what her problem is, but she obviously doesn't like me - nor anyone else for that matter - and I don't want to waste my time in showing her around the castle if she's going to be nothing but a headache."

"Has she been sorted already?" Ron asked, sitting on his own bed across from Harry. 

"Yes, she was sorted privately this morning in Professor Dumbledore's office. McGonagall said it took the Sorting Hat a good fifteen minutes to place her. Evidently, sorting transfer students is hard enough for the Hat, but Rylie was especially tough."

"And?"

"And, she was placed in Gryffindor," Harry said in a bewildered tone. "She seems more like a Slytherin to me. But, I guess the Sorting Hat knows what it's doing, doesn't it?"

"It's been doing it for centuries," Ron agreed. He looked at his watch and stood up. "Come on, Harry, it's time for lunch. Hermione will be waiting for us in the Great Hall."

"Go on ahead of me," Harry said. "I have to pick up Rylie from her Divination class and show her the way to the Hall. I'll only be a few minutes."

Ron nodded and exited their dormitory. Harry stood in front of the mirror and took a deep breath, looking himself in the eye. "All right, Harry, you can do this," he told himself out loud. "Just grin and bear it, and after lunch you'll tell McGonagall you simply cannot deal with the new girl anymore." But somehow, Harry felt that McGonagall would be firm in her decision to make Harry the one-person welcoming committee for Rylie Montague, and that he'd be stuck with this terror of a girl for the rest of the semester.

*~*~*~*

"You're late, Potter." Rylie stood leaning casually against the glittering ladder that led to the Divination Tower. Her arms were folded and her would-be pretty face was molded into an unattractive scowl. Harry didn't respond, but gestured for her to follow him. She fell into stride beside him and they made their way quickly through the dim corridors of the castle. Halfway to the Great Hall, Harry cast a sideways glance at her. Her short, auburn hair was tucked behind her ears, and she stared straight ahead, as though purposely refusing to look around and admire her new environment.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," she said icily, without looking at Harry. He looked away and picked up his pace. This time, Rylie glanced at him. "Is this place always so dark? I feel like I'm going to school in a tomb. And it's too cold and very poorly decorated. You're Headmaster ought to be fired for letting it fall into such horrid disrepair."

"Well if you don't like it, maybe you should leave," Harry retorted automatically. He immediately regretted his rudeness, but then how else was he supposed to respond to this girl's pompous observations? Rylie stopped in her tracks and Harry had gone a few more paces before he realized it. He spun around and stared at her. She stared back.

"Maybe _you_ should mind your own business, Potter."

"We're late for lunch," Harry said blandly. "You can stay here or follow me, I don't care which. But I'm leaving." He turned and began to walk away. When he didn't hear her sharp footsteps behind him, he heaved a sigh and turned around again. "Well? Aren't you coming?"

Rylie's eyes shot daggers at him, and she moseyed forward a few steps, her chin in the air, taking her sweet time. She stepped right up to Harry, close enough to make him uncomfortable, and her lips curled into a mean smile.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," she said softly, her voice full of undue malice, "you have no idea who you're dealing with, do you? Well, I'd learn quick, if I were you. McGonagall assigned you to _me._ You're to show me around and help me get acquainted with things, which essentially makes you my servant for the next few days, doesn't it?"

Harry was taken aback. "Servant?" he repeated. He laughed a little and shook his head. "I don't think so. As of now, you're officially on your own, Montague. Find your own damn way around the castle."

Harry spun on his heel and began to walk away, when a strange constricting sensation began to seize his body, beginning at his feet and working its way up to his shoulders. His legs locked and his elbows pulled themselves automatically into his sides, sending him toppling face forward to the cold stone floor. With a _woosh_ of magic, he was flipped onto his back and Rylie stood over him, her wand aimed at his face. She'd put him into a Full-Body Bind.

"Don't mess with me, Potter," she said coldly. "I believe the Great Hall is this way, right?" She gestured in the direction they had been following, and stepped over Harry's rigid body. Without looking back once, she walked away and disappeared down a flight of stairs.

"Hey!" Harry called, unable to move anything but his lips and eyes. "Come back here! Rylie!"

"Aww, little Potter's been beaten by a _girl_?" If his body had not been frozen still, Harry would have cringed at the drawling voice that echoed down the corridor. Malfoy sauntered into Harry's narrow line of vision and chuckled. "I saw the whole thing, Potter. Quite sad, really. Well, if you'll excuse me, I've got lunch waiting and a very interesting girl I'd like to meet." And Malfoy left Harry lying in the floor, his malicious laughter trailing behind him.

"That's it," Harry resolved silently, "girl or no girl, Montague's going down."


End file.
